


But I Stay

by orphan_account



Series: Moments [2]
Category: Game Grumps
Genre: F/M, Female Reader, Long-Distance Relationship, New Years, POV First Person, Polyamory, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 20:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17453744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Long overdue sequel to 'When A Kiss Was The Cure (And I'd Save My Breath)'. New relationships are hard, especially when you're constantly leaving, but there's beauty in managing to make it work.





	But I Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly guys, I've had this sitting around for like a year. Unfinished. But I logged into my account a few days ago and read a review from, like, last month. And I realized people are still reading my stuff. I've been through more in the last year than I think any human has a right to, but I'm finally in a place where I can write again and it doesn't feel like the words are being pried from my body.
> 
> I love you guys, thanks for still being here. For reading.

I stay.

It’s just a long weekend that bleeds over into Monday. We spend our days curled up on the couch, a different cat stretched across our laps while we languish in the sunlight, the TV playing low in the background. At night we lie together, our limbs intertwined and my heart beats to the sound of his breathing. We take it slow, there’s no rush now, no immediate sense of loss or doom laying over me like a fog. My hands travel over the muscles in his back as he hovers over me, his lips to mine, the mattress plush against my back. Everything is golden and I glow in the warmth of his gaze; for the moment he is mine.

Then Monday comes, and with it the bustle of LAX. He wants to park and walk me in, but I make him drop me off with the briefest of kisses in the departures lane because my heart, my heart's already breaking and if he walks me in, I’ll lose the bit of steel I’ve forged in my spine. I promise to come back, then I rush to TSA and make it to my gate as they’re calling my name over the intercom. We were dragging our feet this morning, grimly sipping our coffee in the kitchen, but now I’m off on my next adventure.

Kansas City greets me like an old friend: her glittering skyscrapers loom over the eclectic corner shops slotted next them with a sense of camaraderie I have yet to find in any other city. My AirBNB feels like it’s at the center of everything, but my feet know these streets and I soon find myself at The Majestic: a 1920’s speakeasy with food that justifies the name. It’s always busy, whether it’s Sunday brunch or jazz night, but the manager always manages to squeeze me in to the booth near the bar. The dinner rush has the waitstaff buzzing, so I sip my Moscow Mule and check my messages, confirming appointments with clients for the next week.

Then my phone vibrates and his name flashes across my screen, I swear I can’t answer fast enough.

“Hey,” I murmur, a little ashamed at how breathless I sound, and I can barely hear his response over the rush of my heartbeat in my ears. “How’s it going, are you still recording?”

“We’re on a break, Dan’s just stepped out so I have minute. Tell me something.”

“Yeah?”

“What to do I have to do to get you back to me?”

“Oh, well. You know. There’s a price.”

“There’s always a price. Name it, baby, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Well, right now it’s your patience. I need it.” He laughs and I echo it almost a little too loudly, since the older lady next to me cuts a sharp glance out of the corner of her eye. “No, but really, I have clients I’m shooting for all week, reviews to write. I don’t stop, Arin, not for anything…but, I don’t know, you play your cards right and I might make an exception for you.”

“I can respect your grind, do what you have to do, but I miss you here with me. The house is a little emptier without you.”

“Well, you have Suzy there to keep you warm.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”

“I miss you too. Look, I have to go, my waiter’s coming over. Tell your wife hi for me, I’ll call you when I can.”

If the older lady wasn’t giving me weird looks before, she definitely is now. I lower my eyes to my menu, feigning indifference to this stranger’s disapproval, but the nagging feeling from this weekend is back, encroaching on the tenuous hold I have on the peace I gained this weekend. I focus on my drink and mumble an order when I’m asked, but I can’t quite ignore the way my hand shakes against the white linen tablecloth.

No doubts. No doubts without discussion, you remember how well that went last time.

I spend my meal updating social media, sharing pictures of my food and just generally avoiding my neighbor’s gaze at all costs; when the restaurant’s crowd gets to be too much and my waiter is looking at me like he wanted me gone five minutes ago, I pay my bill and push through the crowd at the door, stepping out into the cold, open air.

Every city has a spirit and, truly, it’s different for everyone. Seattle’s damp, fresh tree smell permeates my bones, and New York’s dogged determination both energizes me and wears me down. Chicago has fantastic pizza and a loud, vivacious heart that I can’t quite reconcile with the bitter wind that blows off of Lake Michigan. But K.C.? It sprawls across state lines with plenty of room to run, like stepping into a pair of sneakers. It’s always felt like home.

But now L.A. calls my name, with its too-bright lights and the noise and the heat. It’s too much and not enough all at once, I used to hate it - everybody agrees San Diego is better - but now I can’t figure out how I ever lived without it. When I’m tucked away in my room, I flip through pictures on my phone of sunshine, fluffy cats, and lazy post-coffee cuddles. I don’t know when I’ll have time to get back to this, but I think it’s all I’ve ever wanted.

My days in Kansas City go too fast, then I’m state hopping from Iowa to North Carolina to Maine, and the weeks begin to drag into months. I swear I miss him with my bones. Every airport stop requires a postcard that’s inevitably mailed at my next destination, all with the same promises.

I’ll find my way back to you.  
I’ll stay.  
Wait for me.

Our phone calls are longer but further apart, it always feels like we’re running around after each other trying to play catch up. He has meetings with sponsors, he goes on tour, he’s recording, he runs off to Japan with his wife and a promise to get me something pretty. I don’t envy their time away, even though I feel his absence even more acutely as the months stretch on, I don’t want to be selfish. I don’t want to ask too much. So I soldier on, this time landing in Vancouver for a long weekend, and I don’t wait for my phone to ring (even though I want to).

When it does buzz sometime after midnight, I reach for it without hesitation. The screen lights up, a message, nothing more and I’m lucky no one is here to hear the audible sigh as I unlock my phone. There’s a certain shame that comes with longing, one day I hope I can move beyond it, but I always feel like I shouldn’t want. I shouldn’t need. I shouldn’t expect.

What’s your room number?

To be completely fair, I didn’t expect this question.

406\. Why?

No response. Nothing.

Then there’s a knock on my door and I’m out of bed so fast, tripping over my own feet to get to the door. It’s barely opened and his arms are around me, bag on the floor, and I’m wrapping my body around his. He bears my weight with ease, drops his bag on the floor and kicks the door shut, his hand beneath my thigh as support. He smells warm, like soap and fresh laundry, and my hands shake where they’re scrunched against his back.

We’re in bed before I can count to three, hands wandering over heated bodies and we shed our clothes too quickly, needing to be close. It’s been too long and I want to savor these moments: the way he smiles down at me, exposed and wanting beneath him, more naked than I’ve ever been with anyone else.

“Is this okay?” He whispers in the still of the room, and I nod while my hands grab at his arms in a ploy to pull him closer. His hair is falling out of the small bun at the base of his neck, the feathery brown strands fall around his face and I want to push them back because they obscure my vision, but he won’t come close enough to satisfy that urge. “Use your words, babe. This isn’t going anywhere else until you do.”

“Yes, yes. I want this. I want you, come here, I need to feel you.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Wait. I need to get in my bag, hang on.”

“What, did you come prepared?”

“I came hopeful,” he says with a short laugh, rummaging until he emerges, triumphant, with a slightly dented box of condoms. I giggle at his excited grin, almost as eager myself but trying to contain it. Until he kisses me, slotting his body against mine like a puzzle piece.

Then I’m gone.

The sun is rising when we collapse on our backs, the crumpled white sheet barely draped over our bodies. The bed looks like a war zone and I’m so sensitive, I can’t bear to be touched, but his fingers tangle with mine and I don’t have the strength or desire to yank them away. We’ve been so far apart for so long, phone calls and Skype sessions can only do so much for a new relationship.

We needed this.

The way the sun warms the brown in his eyes to soft, glowing amber tugs so hard at my heartstrings I gasp a little. I have beard burn on the inside of my thighs and sweat drying on my skin, this is the unsexiest I think I’ve felt in a long time, but the way he looks in my bed instantly leaves me wanting more of him. I roll over, pressing into his side and he welcomes me, drawing me in like he’s welcoming me home; I watch the sky shift from orange to bright, brilliant blue with my head on his chest, counting each heartbeat as his breathing quiets, slows.

“Why are you here?” I murmur, tracing lazy circles on his skin, waiting for gentle snoring to reach my ears.

“Because you are.” His finger taps my chin, prompting me to look up, and after a few still moments, I do. “You never came back, so I rearranged my schedule. I came to you.”

“I always intended to.”

“I know.”

“Did you get my postcards?”

“Every one. They’re in my office next to my computer.”

“Aren’t you afraid of someone seeing them?”

“Very few people make a habit of going into my office. Those who do? Well, I’m not hiding you from them.”  
“So, your friends...they know?”

“The ones who need to. Is that okay?”

“It’s your life, Arin. If you think this is significant enough to tell your friends about, I want you to do it.”

“Do you think it is?”

“What?”

“Significant enough to tell our friends. Look, I don’t want to rush this, and if you feel like that’s crossing a boundary-”

“No, no that’s not...that’s not what I meant. You telling your friends is your own business. If they know about your arrangement with Suzy and you’ve decided you want them to know about...well, me. That’s fine. I just don’t have anyone close enough to me to tell anymore. Are you sure they won’t tell anyone? Neither of us need this to impact our careers, definitely not right now.”

“They’re discreet.”

He doesn’t comment on my statement about our jobs, and maybe it’s too soon. I can’t let myself wrestle with that right now, I’m too tired on multiple levels, and once his snoring picks up I can’t fight the sweet pull of sleep any longer. We have some time to figure all of this out, right now I just need to be here. If this is all I leave with, it’s enough.

It’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I have ideas for this series, I'd like to write them if there's an audience for it. I don't know, you guys tell me.


End file.
